


No Winners

by wretchedstorms



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, all the colors are here but none of the others are important, character death happens of course but also HAPPENS, dubcon, for a commenter!, noncon, the first half is psychological horror and the second half is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretchedstorms/pseuds/wretchedstorms
Summary: MIRA HQ has some lovely views.
Relationships: Black/White, imposter/crewmate - Relationship, reader/imposter
Comments: 33
Kudos: 401





	1. The Horror

Its quiet, high up.

The hallway is empty, and the crackle of the damaged wirebox is the only aberrant sound; the hiss of life support is omnipresent and soothing, except when it isn't. Opening the box is simple; connecting like-colored strands is simple. It should be routine.

Your hands do not shake, but they should. You should be screaming, running, hiding in some quiet space away from vents and colorful suits and tasks that will not matter if they are all dead. Instead, the training has kicked in; disassociate until the horror is passed. Until the hoarse and panicked voice of the woman in the green suit has faded to just another suppressed memory.

Yellow to yellow. Twist off the connector. 

“He was dead-- he was just dead! In a pool of his own--” She keened into her suits comm, struggling to keep herself together. The sound of it raked across their ears, skidding tire shriek of pain and confusion. 

That was how the crew, knit together in purpose but strangers with unknown faces, found out they were not alone in their headquarters in the sky. MIRA told them to do what they had to; not what it would cost.

The meeting had been thick with tension. You didn’t tend to speak much, in other less critical meetings-- there was a lot more going on than you knew. Now, silence was kinder; it seemed cruel to let panic rush your hand. The others… well. They were not so levelheaded. Not so divorced from their fear.

Not so fearful of the consequence.

“Where was Red?” Blue growled. “I didn’t see Red when I was in the Admin office.” It was easiest to use colors; names meant people and people meant allies. When there was one within the group that wasn’t, well. It was easier to justify the means if the losses at the end were colors, not humans. 

Your color was white. You glanced along the table, following each of the technicolor suits until your gaze landed on a familiar frame. Black was tall and solid, with straight shoulders. Despite never seeing his face, you knew he was steady when it mattered. He had been with you when the body was found. You had nearly ruined your samples, but he had caught your arm and kept the tray from falling.

Now, his eyes were on Blue, and his voice when he spoke was calm with the practiced ease of command. 

“Blue’s last check in was Reactor. Green, where was the body found?”

She choked on the word body. “He-- Purple-- he was in communications, behind the desk. I was going in to check--”

“To check what?” Cyan’s words were like a slap. “What do you need to know in communications? Wanted to see where everyone was?”

Voices explode around you. 

This was becoming too much. You spoke up. “Listen. We don’t know who did it.” All the visors turned on you, and you regretted your voice; regretted speaking up. “All we can do is be more careful now-- more watchful, keep safe. We knew imposters were going to be here; MIRA evacuated to attempt to keep it contained, right? All we are supposed to do is finish our tasks until--”

“--Until we’re dead?!” Pink’s normally bright tone was sharp. “I don’t think so. That’s really suspicious that you’re just wanting to keep doing your work, no regards for the man who literally just died.”

Numbness crept up your neck. “He-- I--”

Black’s voice cut over your own. “She was with me in Laboratory.” He sounded so confident. “If anyone was there in the area other than Green, then they should say something now. Otherwise, we keep eyes up, move quick, and work together.”

Relief flooded through you. You were again glad he had come into the lab when you had been so focused on the work. Glad he caught your arm, and glad he walked you to the cafeteria where you wouldn’t be alone. Keeping your eyes on the table as Brown, Yellow, Bright Green chimed in with their locations, their tasks. 

And then it was time to vote. The screens flashed. You all saw where votes went. One to Green. One to Cyan. 

Two to you.

The rest abstained. Your heart in your throat, you turned away from the table, walking on leaden feet back to the lab. 

There was no proof, and yet-- and yet they were so certain they would risk lives not their own? They would carry that blood on their conscience? Only, would they-- or would they applaud their resolve, certain that it was a loss for the greater good of the survivors?

From the lab, to the Green House. Some measure of calm came with the sound of the doors opening, into the peace of the glass-domed room. The botany projects grew in relative silence and peace-- they were seldom impacted by the chaos of the headquarters. You paused by a bloom on one of the hedges, cupping the petals delicately in your glove. There is a sound in the corner-- something like a hiss, something like a thud. You jerk your hand away, and step forward. 

Your boot lands in something slick. 

Before looking down, you knew what it was. Your insides twisted as you gazed down, and saw your own reflection in the visor of Cyan.

His suit was shredded. His midsection was… absent. It was the only word for it. And there was so much blood. 

Without thinking, you slammed the emergency report function in your suit. The alarm went off, and you raced to the cafeteria somehow. As you ran, the other emerged from their rooms-- Blue from Admin, Black from the office. As you ran, Black kept pace with you.

You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at anyone. 

You gave your report with a voice thin. Where you had been, where you moved. How you found Cyan. 

Pink’s words followed. “It’s really really suspicious that you were the one who wanted us to just keep working and now you find the body. How do we know you didn’t kill Cyan and then report yourself?”

You looked at her in numb dread. “I wouldn’t kill anyone. I don’t want to die.” You spoke very quietly, and felt your knees grow weak. “There was so much blood.” 

Now with time-- now away from the too-bright room-- you could see it in perfect clarity. The bloody tangle of entrails that spilled from the hollow of Cyan’s ribs. The blood, smeared, and the-- the bootprints, leading to the vent. Your grip on the edge of the table tightened, even as you felt yourself begin to pitch forward. 

A hand on your shoulder brought you back. You looked up into Black’s visor.

“She had just gone in there.” Blue’s voice anchored you further. “Black went office, I went admin, and Cyan had gone to the greenhouse first. She had just gotten there, going through the hall.”

You closed your eyes and steeled your nerve. “Whoever did it went through the vent. I saw the footprints.”

Black’s grip tightened on your shoulder. You were glad for his presence. His steadiness.

“Where is Yellow?”

The bottom dropped out of your stomach.

Yellow was in storage. The only one there with her… was Brown. All visors turned to him. His pleas were met with shouted accusations. His screams as he went out the airlock rang in your ears long after you left the table. 

Two more times, the alarms went off. Two more times, there was panicked debate. You did not have anything to say. You were far from the bodies each time-- you had voices to vouch, and vouched in return.

When Red was found. You were in the Med Bay. Pink was with you. She had followed you. You thought… but you were wrong. When the alarm blared, you both raced. You stood close together now, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Where was Black?” Blue’s gaze slipped over the remaining cremates. You remembered a shadow in the hallway as you had passed communications.

“He was in comms.” You say, and the visors turn to you. You stand firm. “He was near me and Pink.”

She nods mutely, and the debate rages forward.

“I’m sorry,” Pink whispered as the others called their stations. You can make out her face vaguely through her visor; her eyes are wide and solemn and scared. “I-- I thought it was-- I don’t want to die.”

You hold her hand as the others come to no conclusions. When the meeting is over, you both are reluctant to let go. 

When Pink is found, it feels like you have emptied yourself feeling. Blue and Black have seen your passage, a white phantom through the ship as you aim for the very last of your tasks. They know it is not you. It is cold comfort. It is damning, that you do not vote. You cannot send them to death. It doesn’t matter; Green votes Blue, Blue and Black vote Green. Your checkbox remains empty. When Green was sent into space… her shrill cries follow you. Numbly, your feet guide you to the next task, tracing the arrow on your HUD.

It was down to three, now. You and Blue and Black. You trusted them both.

One of them was lying. One of them was killing. 

You finished the wiring, closing the metal panel over it. You placed your visor against the wall. Done. Done with your tasks. Somehow, the others work got done despite their… their absence. All you wanted was it to be over.

Pushing away from the wall, you started towards Admin. Your steps echoed in the empty halls. Your thoughts kept stuttering, every time you tried to make the conclusions and facts make sense. 

The lights went dark. Your heart turned to lead.

Going still, you waited. For the sound of footsteps. For the flash of color in the corner of your eye. Nothing came. Silence reigned. 

When the lights didn’t come back-- when the time ticked on and on-- you know what it means. Turning from the path, you walk north instead.

Entering the Green House, you close the door behind you, typing in the lock code. It will show as a red mark in your record, but it doesnt matter now. You wait, watching the oxygen level, and when it finally evens you reach for the clasps on your helmet. The hiss as the closed system is opened fills your ears. Covers the sound of the vent clicking closed. You run your hands through your hair, just to feel it-- feel something-- before the end.

Gloved hands slide over the back of your neck, thumbs gliding over your cheeks and the line of your jaw. You wait for the twist.

It doesn’t come. 

“You vouched for me.” The voice is his, but without the speakers in your helmet he sounds different. His thumbs trace the lines of your throat as his fingers slip into the neck of the suit. 

It hurts to know now. You swallow thickly. “I did.” You thought you saw him in comms; or was it wishful thinking? He had vouched for you-- you returned the favor. You protected him. And now--

“You’re the last one.” He says it quieter than he’s spoken before. “It’s over.”

You know it is. “C-can I ask to go without pain?” You whisper. You were never good at fighting, at sticking up for yourself. You put your head down and did the work. You pushed yourself away from the painful realities and the miserable circumstance and the tragedy. Now, it was thick and leaden in your chest.

You feel him behind you, the press of his suit to your own. He doesn’t respond, his touch merely sweeping lower into the suit, brushing the top of the tank you wore beneath.

You stare at the green, growing things. You stare at the sunset sky beyond the glass. Memorize it, so when you close your eyes, they remain there, in stark relief. “I’m scared.”

A click, a hiss. The scrape of the metal threads of the helmet, and the thud as it tumbles to the ground.


	2. The Other Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

A click, a hiss. The scrape of the metal threads of the helmet, and the thud as it tumbles to the ground. 

“I was never going to hurt you.” Black’s hands rise from your collar and reach to your waist, tugging the belt free, other hand already on the oxygen tank, unbuckling it and letting it drop. “Not you.” The words come out thick and almost slurred; you haven’t looked back at him but when he pressed his lips to your neck you can feel the scrape of his stubble, the sharp lines of his jaw. 

Your suit falls away, his after, and his arms wrap around you tight. His arms are corded, thick with muscle-- he was never a crewmate, you realize. None of the scientists or astronauts were built like this. Vaguely, you remember your files-- the image of Black being slight, before you first launched on THE SKELD, before you met the myriad colored suits of the crew, before any of this made sense. Was it on POLUS that the switch was made? No, it must have been before they left earth the first time-- Had he been waiting this whole time?

The kisses on your neck become more fervent the fewer layers are between you; your body fits against his, almost, but he is so much taller and stronger than you. He ripped Cyan apart; he broke Pink’s neck. He killed all of them, and now his hands are skimming your shoulders and upper arms, pulling you back until he is leaning against the wall and all you can see is the dark silhouettes of the plants, and the blazing sunset through the glass.

Calloused palms shift from your arms to your belly, pads of his thumbs teasing the bottom of your tanktop. He growls low in his throat and it sends a shudder through you that has less to do with fear than you would admit. He feels it, and his hands pass that fabric barrier, slipping beneath the cloth and up to your chest. 

“You feel good in my hands.” He huffs. “I wanted this for so long.” 

You moan as he flicks your nipple, trying to smother that sound too but he shakes his head, the hand across your middle pulling to back against his body. “No. I want to hear you. No one else can hear, I want to hear you now.” Its an order, couched in a request, and you are not immune to it. You moan into the still air of the green house, hips rocking back into his. 

Black continues his exploration for awhile, his hand sliding down over your ribs and up to the other breast; he flicks that nipple as well, and you suck in a sharp breath, the sensation electric as fear mingles with sharp, human want. That seems enough to tip him over some invisible edge, and he captures your now pert nipple and twists harder. 

“Groan for me,” He growls, and when he presses against your back again you can feel the hard press of his desire against your ass and the small of your back. “I saved you, I saved you of all of them, I want you now and I want all of you.” He punctuates each word with a twist of his thumb and forefinger, a pinch or a tug, and it’s all you can do not to let your weak knees bear you to the hull. You groan, eyes closed tight.

His other hand grazes your belly as it sinks lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your underwear before sliding beneath. The touch is fire on your cool skin, you feel cold and exposed except in the heat between your thighs. His breath catches as he caresses the folds of your sex, a finger dipping to find you already growing slick. 

“Ah--” You breathe harder, and on instinct your legs close around his hand. He groans louder, pushing his fingers up along the parting of your sex until he reaches your clit. 

“I saw you on the ship.” He murmurs as he rubs against the bundle of nerves in slow circles. “No one looked at me except you.” Black-- is he still Black? Who was he, is he, and-- continued to speak and you shake away the thoughts. “You stood by me. I thought everything was over, I must look out of place-- I ruined everything-- I was going to fight my way out of there. And you said ‘it’s going to be ok.’” The pressure increases, the hand on your breast squeezing the soft flesh, the one between your thighs moving quicker, harder. 

You remember. You remember seeing him standing alone, and thought the weight of the world must be on his shoulders. How no one was ever prepared for a mission to nowhere, how everyone was alone in their suits, alone with their thoughts. Now, even as he pulls your body up against his own, forcing you on the tips of your toes and the planes of his chiseled chest against your back, you remember.

You crossed the small space of the dropship, while everyone else stared to some far off distance, caught in their own isolated thoughts. you buckled yourself in beside him, the closest of anyone on the ship. And you let your elbow touch his, until his visor turned to yours, and you’d offered what you could of a smile.

It’s going to be ok.

It was kindness, to someone else who looked as lost as you felt. 

He noses your hair as you start to breathe fast, your hips jerking in some deeper instinct to chase that pleasure. He is unrelenting in his pursuit of it; Pulling your nipple, he grinds fingers against your clit, against the hood and the nerves above it, until you’re seeing black flecks in your vision and your blood runs hot and quick in your veins. 

“It’s alright.” His mouth moves to your ear, first his lips capturing the lobe and then his teeth as he tugs. “It’s going to be ok.” 

The sensations are too much. Your hand flies to your mouth as you cry out, hips rocking against the hard cock pinned between you, the clench of your walls on nothing at all both agony and bliss. The waves of your release rock you, and your body moves in its rhythm until he draws his fingers away from your sex, kisses your neck with teeth that leave marks no one will ever see.

When he speaks, his voice is low-- but it is raw with desperation. “Please.” He says, and it is a command and it is begging at once. “Please, I want you.”

In your mind, you see the wires. You see the black shadow pass you. It has always passed you; he was there, when you found Cyan. He was at the vent, and he watched you hold the flower when everyone else was doing their part, or dying.

It’s going to be ok.

Mutely, you nod. Does it matter? You could refuse and he could take, or you can give him this and bury the pain like you always have, like every misery in your history. The ghosts of guilt throng you both but they are dead and you are not. And you do not want to die like this. You close your eyes and nod again, more firmly.

The change is immediate. He shifts to kiss you, the scrape of his stubble on your cheek and jaw almost erotic as he gives in to the passions he has held at bay. He turns both your bodies, until your legs wrap around his waist, back to the metal wall. Your arms slam against the controls, and you quickly pull them away. For the first time, you see his face without the layers of your visors.

You take him in, even as he uses one hand on the wall to steady your frames, another pulling you up close to him on your ass. There may be blood on his hands but right now he is beautiful, outlined by the last rays of sunset, his whole form turned black in the waning light. 

You reach between your bodies before he can solve this puzzle, and fumble to press his cockhead against your now slick folds. His voice catches in his throat, half gasp, and he thrusts forward in an instinctive rock of his hips. You whimper as he forces you open, and then his lips are on your and he is moving so slow.

“I’m going to make it good,” he pants. “God, you’re so beautiful.” His eyes are soft with want even as the rest of him is hungry, and he lifts you, shifting your hips so he glides in to the hilt in one smooth motion, the thickness of his cock pressing you wide, then sliding against that spot inside you that causes the floor to drop out. You both groan, your head falling back against the wall, his own bowed as he watches the place your bodies now connect with fascination. If you were not being held, you would have finally collapsed; instead, he holds your weight easily. Your arms creep over the walls, palms against the smooth metal, sweat making them slide.

When he starts to thrust, your thoughts spin more quickly, flicking just out of reach as you grab for them. You see things; familiar colors out the corner of your eye. Another trauma, another thing to bury. So you close your eyes and rock your hips, until you match his movements, until you are gasping with each time he slams home into your heat. 

It starts slow, but with every moment you reciprocate, every moaned assent, he gets faster and harder. Soon your breasts are bouncing and you back slides up and down the metal, your legs gripping to his waist tightly as you writhe. He leans down, mouthing your breast and you wrap your arms around his dark hair, holding him there as he fucks you senseless.

Soon enough, you feel the tightness in your core bud once more, a tight furl of lust want and fear that cannot be fully dimmed. “I--” You whimper low. “I’m close--”

He growls again into your skin, a feral sound. “God, cum on me.” His hips move faster now, dropping the hand against the wall to slide between your sweat-slick frames, until calloused fingers find your clit once more. “I want to feel you-- see you-- as you lose yourself to me.” He is panting and his eyes are wild as he kisses you again, hips and hand doing their best to undo you.

Whining, toes curling, you try to let it come. You try to succumb to this thing, this pleasure from the monster, but your body fights until you are shaking, until you are keening your closeness. It’s not enough, it’s not enough--

He thrusts, and the hand from your hip rises hard as he grips your throat, staring into your eyes. The grip is tight, and soon all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your vision going spotty and dark at the edges as he keeps the brutal pace. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath but panic is gripping you now, winding you tighter and tighter and--

He pulls you closer to his face, lifting it so your vision is reduced to nothing but his lips. He thrusts again, hitting your deepest walls.

It’s going to be ok.

His fingers grind down on your clit, other hand giving one more squeeze.

Your release hits you like a meteor; like a spaceship crashing, like an icebase explosion, like a glass-walled headquarters tumbling down to earth. You scream silently, thrashing in his hold and he has to release your throat, grab you with both hands as you shake in his embrace. He follows during the excruciating pleasure of it; your walls grip and cling tight to his hard shaft, drawing him deeper, the pulse of your pleasure tipping him into his own. He spills himself as deep as he can into you.

When your vision clears, when your heart slows enough that you do not feel poised for a coma, his brow is pressed to your sternum. 

You smooth his hair, lungs straining. You will go first, you suppose. It seems an unkind death, but you were already so close to it and maybe it will not be such a torture, if it is as slow as this. 

As he clings to you, his cock buried in your warmth, you know that this is the only way. It hurts, to hurt him, but it’s the only way. It wasn’t difficult, as he chased his needs, to hit the O2 release when he turned your body to the wall; you couldn’t see it, so you had assumed it would be quick and you would die gasping, wanting. Instead, it is just… harder to breath. You already were low on air from his hand on you-- now, you would simply… succumb. 

He grips you tighter, his words a slur you cannot understand. Your beautiful monster. If only… but it was never you. Your kindness was a stopgap, nothing more. MIRA had sent all of you to die-- and of the crew, only you really understood. You didn’t want him to face that death alone. You didn’t want to face it alone, and now, you wouldn’t. 

Your eyes grow heavy as you murmur to him softly, fingers winding in his hair. It’s going to be ok, you whisper. It’s going to be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say that major character death was there for a reason


End file.
